Well Met in Azkaban
by Foxx Laverinth
Summary: Neville Longbottom is sent to Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit, and is forced to share a cell with the last person he'd ever want to share one with... (Chapter 1 now revised!)


It was dark where he was. That was all right. He'd gotten used to the darkness - and the cold. They were both constants that he clung to like a lifeline. He thought grimly to himself, in his rare moments of sanity, that it was almost as if he were hanging on to some semblance of death.   
  
He didn't care, really. It was something - no matter how empty.   
  
The floor beneath him chilled him to the bone, the thin robe he wore doing nothing to give him any sort of warmth. He'd learned to ignore it long ago. He sat with his back to the wall, slumped forward, miserable and wretched looking as he had been for the past six years. The room never changed. It was the same dim blue and gray as always, and as dismal as his own inner emotions.   
  
His hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes as he hunched over. It was like a curtain, obscuring the hated scenery from his vision. He didn't really remember when he'd first noticed its length. It seemed to him now as though it had always been that way. He supposed he'd changed so much over the past few years that his own father wouldn't recognize him.   
  
His father...   
  
He gave a shudder, wrapping two thin arms around his legs. No. There were enough bad memories forced upon him without him having to draw out his own.   
  
A tall figure moved past the door to his cell, draining what little warmth was left in the room as it passed. He looked up, knowing what he would see. A being, tall and darkly robed with hands shriveled and grotesque. It turned its cowl envelopedhead to look upon him. Though he could see nothing in its empty hooded gaze, he shrank back further into the corner of the room.   
  
"Please..." he muttered feebly, "not now..."   
  
But the being before him knew no mercy. His pleas were no different than any of the other captives within this place. He would be given no special privilege here.   
  
The fog rushed over him in a wave of ice, drowning out all other thoughts but those he wanted least to dwell upon. Old memories of past sins came back to haunt him - to drown him in a sea of his own despair. Although they were the same voices and the same fears he'd carried and relived for years, each time he relived them with the same intensity as the time before. The pain refused to dim for him.   
  
_"You're a murderer! A bloody, stinking, bastard and I hope you ROT in that prison! Do you hear me?"_   
  
_"You've betrayed anyone who would have shown you mercy, child. I wonder what you planned to accomplish. Are you satisfied with what you've done?"_   
  
_"He was responsible, sir. I cannot believe it. My own son! I tried to raise him properly, but I knew from the start he would be too troublesome for his own good. Do what you must with him. It appears I can't help him anymore."_   
  
_"Do you hear me, Malfoy?! I hope you go to HELL!!"_   
  
Draco Malfoy raised his hands to his ears, knowing that it would do nothing to stop the torrent of voices but not caring. After a while, the Dementor bored of its tormenting and moved on to a different cell. The wreck of a man it left behind remained seated, rocking back and forth in his own sad manner of comfort.   
  
  
  
WELL MET IN AZKABAN  
A work of Harry Potter Fanfiction by Foxx Laverinth   
  
_WARNING: This story contains NO explicit sexual material or slash (same gender relationships) among main characters, so if that's what you're looking for, I'm sorry to disappoint… What it does contain is a good amount of violence, profanity, and rather disturbing situations. You have been warned.   
  
This story was originally written after GoF, but since so litle of it was done before the release of OotP, I decided to rewrite some of it, even after I said I wasn't going to. (I should have known better. There were too many plot twists in OotP I wanted to use that I just couldn't help it.)   
  
If you haven't guessed from the opening sequence, this is a post-Hogwarts fic. It takes place six years after Harry's Seventh year (which would place it eight years after OotP, making Harry, Draco, Ron, etc. about 23. Add or subtract years respectfully for the other characters.)   
  
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine. Not a single one of them. I'm just using them for my own silly motives. Please don't force me to flee the country. I have no money._   
  
CHAPTER ONE: THE WRONGLY ACCUSED   
  
Neville sat still, unblinking, at his place before the court. Chains of cold metal bound his arms and body to the chair. Remus Lupin sat directly behind him in the first row of people. The older man was looking at him with an expression of pained regret. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to change the verdict. Of anyone in the room, he could give him the most sympathy.   
  
But he couldn't change the outcome.   
  
Lucius Malfoy smiled at him in a most unfriendly fashion from his place at the Prosecutor's table. Remus did his best to repress a scowl. There were so many horrible things he wanted to do to that man it was unbearable. He dared not speak out, though. Despite his position in the Order, his position in the Ministry was somewhat lacking. His hand clenched tightly at his side, his nails nearly drawing blood.   
  
He would rather have switched places with the boy any day. He'd seen what some of Azkaban's prisoners had been reduced to, and he'd lost a dear friend to it for twelve long, miserable years. He'd rather be sent there himself then let another young man's mind be raped inside its walls.   
  
"Mr. Longbottom," the judge said curtly. "You have been found guilty of the murder of Pansy Parkinson, as well as aiding and abetting the followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Your sentence will be life in the Prison at Azkaban."   
  
Several people in the audience leapt to their feet in anger. Ron Weasley was among them, and he had to be held beck back by his wife to keep him from pulling out his wand and attacking the judge. "HE DIDN'T DO IT!" Ron cried. "LUCIUS MALFOY WAS A DEATH EATER! WHY ISN'T _HE_ IN AZKABAN?"   
  
"Silence!" the judge could be heard shouting and banging his gavel. "I will have silence in my courtroom!"   
  
Remus saw Neville lower his head at this point, overwhelmed. "Damned Malfoy," he heard Ron mutter under his breath, "that snake-ass kissing worthless excuse of a man. He's not in Azkaban because he sent his SON in his place!"   
  
The red-head had finally been subdued by his wife, Padma, who gripped his arm firmly in case he tried to get up again. The expression on Ron's face was one of boiling hatred, and Lucius was its sole recipient. It was a shame the man had long since turned his attention elsewhere. Padma leaned over and whispered something in Ron's ear. His angry look dimmed somewhat, replaced by one of determination. Remus didn't need to hear what they were saying to be able to figure it out. Obviously both were determined that they find a way to prove Neville's innocence and save him from having to spend too much time in that prison.   
  
Another figure sat close to Ron, wearing a similar expression. Harry Potter had his hands clenched tightly in his lap, glaring at the back of Lucius' head as though his eyes would drill two holes straight through the elder Malfoy's skull. Harry had spent every minute since Neville's arrest making his belief in Neville's innocence known. Remus knew this had to be hard on him. He and Neville were close friends. He saw him turn to Hermione, who sat to Harry's right amongst a group of black clad aurors. She'd yet to express any sort of reaction to what was happening. When she caught his gaze, however, she nodded once. She was in agreement with him.   
  
No way were they leaving Neville in that prison.   
  
Several guards appeared. Two of them hauled Neville to his feet, one at either arm. The brown-haired young man made no protest. He seemed resigned to his fate, a fact that obviously greatly pleased Lucius Malfoy. The eyes of the former Death Eater followed him until he was out the door. His smile was one of immensely sadistic satisfaction as the court was dismissed.   
  
+ + + + +   
  
He found the prisoner lying on his back upon the cold floor with his hands clasped together over his stomach and his eyes gazing wearily at the ceiling. He looked to all the world as though he were perfectly comfortable where he were.   
  
It was with great trepidation that Percy Weasley approached the bars of the cell, warily eyeing the Dementors on either side. He cleared his throat, hoping to attract the prisoner's attention. The young man made no movement to indicate that he had heard him. "Excuse me, " the Vice Minister of Magic finally asked, deciding that just standing there wouldn't do him any good. "Are you alive in there?"   
  
There was no response from the prisoner. To be honest, he hadn't really expected one. According to the prison records, the man hadn't spoken anything coherently since about four months after his imprisonment. The prisoner made so little movement, in fact, that for a moment Percy was afraid that he was no longer among the living.   
  
The Vice Minister tapped against the bars of the cell. The prisoner's head lolled toward his direction ever so slightly.   
  
Well, at least he was alive.   
  
Sighing, Percy motioned with one hand for the guards to approach with the new prisoner. Neville walked slowly between them, as though they were the only things keeping him upright. He appeared to shiver under the cold, empty gaze of the Dementors guarding the cell.   
  
"We have to put you in with a cell mate, Neville," Percy said regretfully. "All the other cells are full for the moment."   
  
The look of horror on Neville's face stung Percy's heart, but he had no other choice. He could understand his friend's fear. Being put into Azkaban was bad enough without having to be stuck with a prisoner who was actually guilty of murder. The Ministry didn't want to risk moving any of the other prisoners, so they'd voted to place him with one of Azkaban's better behaved occupants. He didn't dare tell him who exactly he was being put with. He didn't want to see Neville's reaction to _that._   
  
The Ministry had brought Draco Malfoy up as the best option. Percy had nearly choked when he'd heard.   
  
Apparently, Malfoy was the best-behaved out of all of them, which came as a surprise. Percy remembered that during the first month of his imprisonment, Malfoy had done nothing but scream of the unjustness of it all to whomever would listen, stopping only when his voice had worn out.   
  
Draco Malfoy had been a Death Eater - and was known to have been proud of it. He'd quickly made his way straight into Voldemort's inner circle, earning the favor of the Dark Lord through any means possible. Percy didn't know how many Muggles or Muggle-borns he had killed during his time under the mask. He merely knew that in the end it hadn't helped him. Not a single Death Eater came to his rescue when he was captured, and no one stood up for him as he was sentenced. His own father had helped turn him in.   
  
As Percy looked upon the man now, he realized there was very little left of the person he'd used to be. The sorry shell of a human being before him could barely even be considered living.   
  
It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for Malfoy.   
  
Almost.   
  
The guards tossed Neville inside the cell, slamming the door shut with a loud clang. Percy took one more moment to send Neville a reassuring look, that he knew would mean nothing, before following the two escorts back out of Azkaban.   
  
--   
  
Someone was intruding into his space.   
  
There was movement outside his cell.   
  
It wasn't really the movement that was unusual; it was the source. He saw a shock of red hair through the bars. Dementors didn't have red hair.   
  
Not that he would know; they all wore cloaks. As far as he knew, they could all be redheads.   
  
He turned his head as the somebody spoke. The voice was too quiet. He couldn't hear it. He should have asked them to speak louder, but he couldn't find his voice, so he didn't bother.   
  
_You sure could find it earlier. What was all that yelling about anyway? I told you I had the matter settled. You should have just left it at that._   
  
Then there was light. It was sudden, and Draco's eyes squinted in pain. He tried to focus on the door. What was going on?   
  
The door was open.   
  
He blinked, unbelieving. He had one quick glimpse of sweet, blissful freedom. He should have stood up. He should have run through the door.   
  
But as quickly as it had opened, it closed again, and all hope of leaving was dashed.   
  
The somebody outside walked away.   
  
And suddenly he wasn't alone.   
  
--   
  
Neville couldn't remember a time he'd been as afraid as he was then. At first he'd been resigned, in shock almost, that this could actually be happening to him. But now he was here, in a cold and unfamiliar cell surrounded by Dementors.   
  
He was in Azkaban. He was in Azkaban and he didn't know if he'd ever get out.   
  
_I'll go mad,_ he thought. _I'll go mad - just like my parents._ The thought made him feel numb inside, and he curled up into a ball, still lying on the floor. _Well, I suppose we'll all be mad together._   
  
He let his eyes wander upward and caught sight of his grisly blonde cell -mate. Merlin knows how mad he already is. He watched the emaciated man - he was pretty sure it was a man - and he found himself being watched in return.   
  
"So," he said shakily. "W-what's your name?"   
  
He received no response, only a blank look from the other prisoner.   
  
He tried again. "How l-long have you been here?"   
  
Again there was nothing.   
  
The room was becoming frighteningly chilly. His cell -mate was starting to scare him. Would it be like this the whole time? Could this man even speak? Or would he be spending the rest of his time in this horrible place having conversations with himself? It was unnerving.   
  
He sat up, and maneuvered himself back until he was leaning against the nearest wall, too afraid of his silent cell -mate and his surroundings to do anything else.   
  
----   
  
_He asked you a question. Aren't you going to answer?_   
  
But he didn't know who he was. How could he answer him when he didn't know who he was?   
  
_You know who he is_.   
  
No, he was quite sure he didn't. He didn't believe he'd ever seen that man before in his life.   
  
_You know who he is._   
  
He didn't know who he was. He was confused. He needed to be told.   
  
_You know who he is._   
  
**_He is your partner in Hell._**   
  
----   
  
"Draco," the man suddenly answered.   
  
Neville's head shot up from where he'd had it resting between his knees. "What?" he asked, not sure he'd heard him clearly.   
  
"Draco," the other man repeated, his voice hoarse. "You asked for my name." The pale man watched him through one eye, his other covered up by the hair that fell eerily over one side of his face.   
  
_Draco?? _Neville wondered in horror. _They put me in a cell with MALFOY??_ He'd hoped the evil ferret had long been dead. While it was apparent he wasn't in the best of health, he was clearly still living. Neville braced himself against the wall, as consciousness threatened to leave him in a faint.   
  
Draco made no move to start further conversation. He merely continued to sit where he was and stare in Neville's direction.   
  
When he was somewhat assured that the man wasn't going to lunge at him and strangle him, Neville let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in, and slumped back a bit.   
  
"W-well, hello, Malfoy," he said shakily. "It looks as though we're finally in the same position. Do you remember me? I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom. Do you remember? We were in school together and…" He realized he had begun to babble and shut his mouth.   
  
Draco's eyes had narrowed at the mention of his last name, and he turned his head away.   
  
--   
  
The newcomer was starting to make too much noise. He hoped he wouldn't be staying long.   
  
Maybe he should just kill him.   
  
_No, no. None of that now. You know better._   
  
He knew better, of course, but that wasn't always the more interesting way.   
  
He didn't like this man.   
  
_That's not a nice way to start things off! He hasn't done anything wrong._   
  
He didn't like this man.   
  
He'd said the name and he didn't like him.   
  
* * * * *   
  
"I can't do this, Ginny."   
  
Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, sat with his head in his hands, hunched over his kitchen table. He wore a simple robe of black cotton, and that only served to darken the mood of the room. Ginny Potter placed her hands on her husband's shoulders.   
  
"You need to," she said quietly. "It will be good for you."   
  
"I just… I should be doing something to…" He ran a hand through his unruly hair, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. "I know, I know… We have both Hermione and Percy looking into it… but I just don't feel right going out there and playing Quidditch when one of my best friends is locked up in Azkaban!"   
  
Ginny sighed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Your team needs you," she said, speaking gently into his ear. "Your fans want to see you. You won't be helping anyone if you let this upset you too much." She ruffled his hair a bit. "You can't do everything on your own."   
  
Harry let out an exasperated moan and dropped his arms to the table before burying his face in them. "It's not FAIR! He shouldn't be in there, Ginny!"   
  
Ginny stepped back and sighed again. In a different situation, she would have laughed. Harry's voice was almost comically muffled by his arms. "If you start pouting like a child I _will_ ground you, Mr. Potter. Don't think I can't." She pushed her red hair away from her eyes as she looked down at her watch. "The game starts in an hour. You know Oliver will throw a fit if you don't show."   
  
Harry's shoulders sagged a bit as he realized he was probably going to lose this battle. "I won't be able to play well," he argued only half-heartedly. "My mind won't be on the game."   
  
"You'll do fine."   
  
"The fans will know something's up."   
  
"So don't let them!" Ginny crossed her hands over her chest and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Harry. All that can be done is being done. You need to put on a strong face for everyone."   
  
There was a pause as Harry gathered himself together. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet, turned, and held his arms open. Ginny embraced him and gave him a peck on the cheek.   
  
"It'll be okay, Harry," she whispered. "They'll get him out. You'll see."   
  
Harry nodded, nuzzling the side of her neck and bathing himself in her sweet assurances. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he murmured.   
  
Ginny chuckled softly. "Well, obviously you'd shrivel up like a prune and die."   
  
Harry snorted into her shoulder, and she laughed.   
  
"Get your things together," she said. "I'll grab your uniform."   
  
* * * * *   
  
Neville watched his cell mate out of the corner of his eye. Since he had last spoken with him, Malfoy had made no further attempt at communication. In fact, he'd rarely even made eye contact with him. Without any sort of notice, an imaginary line had been drawn through the cell. The self-emptying chamber pot that they shared became the boundary, due to its placement at the center of the back wall. If Neville attempted to get too close to Malfoy's side, he would be glared at harshly until he returned to his own.   
  
The bed, or what passed for one, remained on Malfoy's side. As filthy as it was, however, Neville thought he probably wasn't much worse off sleeping on the floor.   
  
Malfoy, who was still as pale as Neville remembered him from their days at Hogwarts, was taking a nap. He probably should be doing the same. He'd learned quickly when the best times to sleep peacefully were. Just a few minutes ago, for example, the distressed screams of one of the prisoners down the hall had attracted the attention of a good deal of the Dementors in their sector. For a while they might have a bit of peace. During this time they would say nothing and try their hardest to keep their thoughts blank and dismal, hoping that they would be forgotten about for a while.   
  
He found it horribly ironic that they relied on the pain and suffering of someone else to get a moments moment's peace to themselves, but he was sure that if their positions had been switched, the other prisoner would have done the same.   
  
Malfoy shuddered in his sleep. As Neville watched, one of the other man's hands balled itself into a fist, clenching hard enough so that his knuckles turned white, before uncurling again at his side. Even now, the former Death Eater's dreams could not go undisturbed.   
  
Neville hoped he didn't attract the Dementors' attention.   
  
Back in their third year when Dementors had been brought to Hogwarts, Malfoy had teased Harry for fainting whenever they approached. Neville wondered if he would have been nearly so cruel had he known he would someday be surrounded by them. If Harry were to burst in at that moment and frighten the whole hoard of hooded figures away with the silvery light of his _Patronus_ he bet that Malfoy would not have anything bad to say about him.   
  
A Dementor across the hallway turned its head slightly in his direction and he immediately stilled his thoughts. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side today, and the creature descended upon him, lured by his fantasies.   
  
The visions it sent were familiar. They had haunted him during his third year, and the amount of despair they brought with them had not been lessened over time. He fell back from the bars of his cell where he had been sitting, cringing and turning away from his tormentor.   
  
_"They can't take you, Neville," his mother sobbed, holding the toddler gently in her arms. She sat huddled in the corner of her bedroom, shivering fretfully. "I won't let them."   
  
"She's in here!" he heard someone say. It was an unfamiliar young man's voice. It surely wasn't his father. Where had they taken his father?   
  
"Frank will be fine," he heard his mother muttering to herself. "He... He's an Auror... He knows what he's doing... He'll be fine!"   
  
There was a rattling at the door, then a loud exclamation of some word he didn't understand. The door flew open, and several people in dark cloaks and white masks ran in.   
  
Suddenly he found himself being shoved under his parent's bed by his mother. Why was he being put under there? Was he supposed to pretend to hide?   
  
"She won't know anything," one of the men said, unaware of his presence. "If the Auror didn't know anything then there's no way she's going to."   
  
"Stay away!" he heard his mother cry. "Get out of my house!"   
  
One of the men shoved his mother back against the wall. He inched further back under the bed, scared out of his mind. His mother screamed and brought up her leg to kick the man, but her leg was grabbed in mid-flight and twisted at the ankle, causing her to cry out again.   
  
"Where have they taken our lord?" a woman's voice asked. One of the cloaked figures was a woman. "Where have they taken Lord Voldemort??"   
  
His mother was trying to twist out of her captor's grip. "I don't know!" She cried. "I doubt they've... taken him anywhere!"   
  
"Lies!" the man holding her leg responded, giving her ankle a further twist and knocking her to the floor.   
  
His mother was in pain. He wanted to reach out - to and help her up, but if he did the evil men would get him, too.   
  
"Your... master is DEAD!" she cried out again. She clutched her ankle in agony now that the man had let go. "He was killed... by a CHILD!"   
  
The shortest of the cloaked figures pushed the others aside. Neville couldn't see his face, but his movements were angry. "She's no use at all," he cried. "Let her go join her husband."   
  
"CRUCIO!"_   
  
Back in reality, Neville let out a piercing shriek and threw himself against the door of his cell.   
  
"Monsters!!" He banged his fists against the bars. "I didn't do anything!! I'm innocent, you hear? INNOCENT!" The bars shook under his blows, causing a rattling commotion. The Dementor was now joined by several others, and all warmth was now being drained from the entire cell block. Neville fell back as the images replayed themselves… along with others. He heard the cries up and down the hall of other prisoners being affected by his act of rage.   
  
Two hands latched onto his shoulders, pulling him back away from the bars. They flung him to the floor, where his head slammed painfully against the stone. Looking up through bleary eyesight, he found Draco kneeling over him. His cellmate was panting from the effort of moving him and glaring at him hatefully.   
  
"Idiot!" the man spit out from between clenched teeth. He would have said something more, Neville was sure, but he suddenly swayed and gripped his head before passing out on the floor.   
  
Seconds later, Neville followed.   
  



End file.
